Snapeology - A Series of Experiments
by Elaryn
Summary: A lovestruck young witch at Hogwarts develops a new field of research: "Snapeology," and goes to great lengths (or depths) in pursuit of "science." Originally written for and posted on "Severus Snape's Slytherin Society." Enjoy!
1. Experiment, The First -or- Cookies for t...

"Experiment, the First"

or-

"Cookies for the Teacher"

_A note to a classmate in Potions:_

Dear Roo,

You, my dear Roo, are a LOT braver girl than I...of course (paraphrasing here), "Faint heart never won fair man." Of course, our dear Professor Snape is not 'fair,' but he certainly IS compelling in his very own, dark and mysterious fashion!

Let's see...you tried the "damsel in distress" motif. He side-stepped. You tried the "seductive harem honey" motif. No dice. You tried the "brains AND beauty" motif. Back to the old drawing board. You tried to soothe his savage breast with music, and alas, he turned out to be a music critic. You even tried the time-honoured "spunky heroine" motif. You caught his eye, and as a token of his undying regard, he gave you...detention (ecch! ecch! ecch! Rat guts! Peuwww!)

So let's see here...what's left? Allow me to consult "Pursuit of the Single-Wizard (or, How to Always Get Your Man)" by Ivanna Mantunite and get back to you.

Cordially,

Althea Wainwright

Hmm... Let me see… (Chapter 12, Page 354), "...and as any wily witch surely knows, the way to your woebegone Wizard's lonely heart is through his stomach. Brew up a bewitching batch of some delectable dainty your Wizard favours and offer to him on a regular basis. Regular offers of fabulous food will tame his tremulous heart..."

I attempted (in the interests of science, of course), a field test of my theory, the results of which follow in my diary entry.

I knocked at the door of Professor Snape's study, a tray of freshly-baked cookies in hand. "Professor Snape? Are you terribly busy?"

He answered my knock after a very long pause. "Who is it this time?" And I thought I heard him mumble, "These insufferable brats seem to think I have nothing better to do than while away the time engaging in puerile conversations with them."

As you might imagine, Dear Reader, I was already somewhat nervous about the undertaking of this experiment, but Science would never advance if all researchers were faint of heart, and so I took a deep breath and announced, "It's me, sir, Althea Wainwright. I'm in your sixth year Potions class, Slytherin. I...um...have something for you, sir."

The door was yet closed, but the sound of displeasure in his delicious voice was quite distinct. He did not sound at all pleased to have been interrupted. Not one little bit. "Althea...Wainwright, is it not? If it's Potions homework, Miss Wainwright, you may present it to me before class tomorrow. I am exceedingly busy."

"Please, sir, I only need a few moments of your time." Of course, of what use was the experiment if I never even got the opportunity to carry it out?

There came the sound of a chair scraping on stone and approaching footsteps, and I could hear him murmuring to himself, "Wonder what THIS one wants?" The door opened, and there stood Professor Severus Snape, in all his austere glory. He looked down at me with a small, disquieting smile playing on his lips and the beginning of that well-known – and feared - glitter in his dark eyes. "Well, Miss Wainwright, what is it, and I hope, for your sake, it is exceedingly important."

I tried not to gulp audibly but I found I was nearly swooning at the good Professor's proximity. He always seemed so much…taller…whenever he was annoyed about something, which seemed to be quite often. "S-sir, please, may I talk to you in private? It's…it's…"

The smile thinned and the eyes narrowed dangerously. "Come in, come in." He did not resume seat but stood next to his desk and motioned me to close door behind myself. "Well, what is it you have to show me that is so terribly urgent?"

My face was already hot, and despite the chill of the dungeon, I felt overwarm – almost feverish. But I plucked up my courage and presented the cookies, just as I'd planned. "I baked these for you myself, sir. They're p-p-ocolate and ch-chumpkin crookies—I mean…no…umm…chookie, chocokin and pumpolate… That is, I-"

Professor Snape nodded gravely. His smile had thinned to a dagger's edge, and his black eyes seemed to be boring a hole clean through me. "I see, Miss Wainwright. Home-made cookies… I'm touched." He took the tray from me, set it down and reached behind his desk.

I sensed (or at least I hoped I sensed) a softening and Golden Opportunity. I stepped closer to him. "Oh, sir, I'm so glad you like them. I wanted to do something special for you. I wanted to do something…personal. I really-"

"Why, it just so happens there IS something you can do for me."

My heart was pounding. I stood before him, looking up into his face, into his fathomless, black eyes, and I felt the room is spinning. Yes, this is IT! Yes, I thought. "Yes, sir! ANYthing! I'll do anything you want, sir!"

"Anything, Miss Wainwright? I'm delighted to hear it." And at that, he retrieved an old-fashioned crook-handled English school cane from behind his desk and placed it firmly on top of desk while continuing to smile in a very menacing manner.

I wonder if my eyes were as wide as they felt. I looked about for a place to hide, but no place in that room seemed a likely refuge. My eyes traveled back from the cane to Professor Snape's face, and back again and finally, all I could manage to squeak out was, "Yes, sir?"

"First of all, all, you may pass the word along that I will not tolerate any further interruptions. Secondly, you will be joining Miss Carleton in detention under the auspices of Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris, disemboweling rats for potion components. And third, you may rest assured that I do not keep this implement in my study for decoration and that if sufficiently provoked, I will not hesitate to use it in the traditional and time-honoured fashion. Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

I felt close to fainting with terror, but he stood there, waiting, until I replied, "Yes…yes, sir. Th-thank you, sir."

The interview completed, Professor Snape resumed his chair, saying only, "Do close the door on your way out."

Thus ended Experiment, The First

_A further note to a classmate in Potions:_

Dearest Roo,

Offers of food didn't work, either. More on this later, once the smoke clears. See you in Detention.

Rat guts! ewwwww!

Unhappily,

Althea Wainwright


	2. Experiment, The Second -or- Love-letters...

Experiment, The Second

or-

"Love-letters in the Sand"

Hmm… It clearly states in "Pursuit of the Single-Wizard (or, How to Always Get Your Man)" (Chapter 11, Page 270) by Ivanna Mantunite, "…Some wizards simply have a regrettable knack for playing 'hard-to-get.' It is up to you, Miss Winsome Witch, to divine the chink in his armour, the bridge across his moat, the perilous primrose-planted path that will lead you into the round tower of his hapless heart. But how to stalk and subdue the Shy Sorcerer? Remember, the Quill is mightier than the Quaffle! The Elusive Enchanter is an intelligent Beast and quite literate. If your spoken spell will not ensnare his affections, concoct a sensuous scroll that delineates your desperate desire to devote yourself to him. Passionate Poetry! Voluptuous Verse! Luscious Lyrics! These are the components for a penned potion of adoration guaranteed to garner glorious results for you, the Erudite Enchantress!"

Once again, in the interests of science, I have decided to conduct a second experiment. The first exercise in "Project Snape-Snare" was not entirely successful, though I DID notice that he has not yet returned the cookie tray. Though I may be over-optimistic, I cannot help but see this as a good sign.

I decided to make my move immediately following Potions class for the sixth year Slytherins. My method of delivery was quite simple and straightforward. Doing as Miss Mantunite suggested, I crafted a bit of verse on a piece of carefully perfumed parchment, using emerald-hued ink and a finely carved, calligraphic quill. I was somewhat pleased with the results, which are as follows:

When first I came to Hogwarts

To study Magic Art,

'Twas there I first did see your face,

And there, did lose my heart.

For six cruel years, I've pined to see

Your face or hear your voice

I cannot help but love you, dear

For me, there is no choice.

My dearest wish is that someday

You'll notice me and say,

"O dearest girl, I love you so

Please with me come away."

Signed, Your Anonymous Admirer

The poem completed, I carefully slipped it into the stack of homework being passed along the rows to the front of the classroom. I carefully observed the Subject as he inspected each submission. My observations were rewarded with an almost imperceptible widening, then sudden narrowing of the eyes. And for just a moment, my eyes met his across the room. He smiled then, and resumed checking the homework. During class, I observed the Subject at every opportunity. He, in turn, appeared to be watching me.

Class ended, and the Subject returned to his desk. I was one of the last to leave the classroom, when I heard the Subject softly call out my name. "Miss Wainwright. Remain after class a moment, won't you?"

Swallowing hard, I replied, "Y-yes, sir," and laid my books down. The Subject then proceeded to pick up the poetic parchment, bring it to me and lay it on the desk before me.

"Does this parchment seem familiar to you, Miss Wainwright?" His black eyes were glittering again, and his smile had once again thinned to a knife's edge. He was towering over me, and I could feel my face growing hot.

Of course, as a scientific researcher in the field of Snapeology, I simply could not reveal to the Subject that he was being studied. It would certainly skew the results of the experiment! "Uh, n-no, sir," I replied." Other researchers will please take note that the Subject can be dangerous when cornered!

His response was a brief nod and a narrowing of the eyes. "I see." The Subject stared down at me for a very long moment before turning away slightly. "Do you enjoy writing, Miss Wainwright?" the Subject said, almost casually, over one black-clad shoulder.

I could not help but notice that he was still carrying the parchment in one hand. "Y-yes, sir." I tried to keep my face impassive, but could not help a faint, hopeful smile as the Subject turned to face me.

He smiled. "That is excellent, Miss Wainwright. It is always gratifying to see a pupil applying herself to her lessons." The Subject then returned to his desk and beckoned me closer. I could not help but feel I was on the brink of a new discovery! The Subject leaned down for a moment and retrieved a weighty tome from under his desk.

Drawn by his crooked finger as if by an 'Accio' spell, I approached, wondering if he could hear my pounding heart. "Thank you, sir!"

The smile thinned again, and his eyes locked on mine. Could it be? "Since you seem to enjoy writing, Miss Wainwright, I have a small assignment for you. You are to copy the first one hundred pages of "Potions and Theyre Ingredientes," translating the archaic language into modern English."

"Um…yes, sir. Copy the first…one hundred…pages…?"

"Yes, Miss Wainwright, the first one hundred pages…five times." The Subject slid the book toward me with an evil smile. "Oh…and since this is _my_ private copy, I will allow you to remain here in the classroom to complete your assignment until the supper bell is rung. After the evening meal, you will, of course, return here and complete your assignment. Mr. Filch will be checking in on you and escorting you back to Slytherin in time for lights out. And I expect it first thing Monday in Potions."

I blinked and shuddered. Unable to keep a tremour from my voice, I repeated, "The first one hundred pages…five times?"

"Is there an echo in here, Miss Wainwright? I believe that is what I said. Of course, if you think the assignment is insufficient to keep you out of mischief, I can always increase it." The Subject seemed to enjoy toying with his prey. There are, I reminded myself, always risks involved in the observation of dangerous creatures.

"N-n-no, sir. Th-this assignment should, um, keep me out of trouble just fine, sir." Here, the Observer noted that a clear display of submission was in order to prevent the Subject from becoming further agitated.

The Subject nodded – a brief and regal incline of his head. "Do make certain to copy the assignment in your very best hand, Miss Wainwright. If your penmanship were anything other than excellent, I would be forced to require you to repeat the assignment…not to mention other alternatives at my disposal…" The dark eyes narrowed, and I felt as though I were teetering on the brink of an abyss. Despite the fact that my Subject was making a clear threat display, I felt jubilant over my latest discoveries.

I nodded and sat to begin my assignment as the Subject observed me, temporarily turning the tables on scientific research. But as he closed the door and I heard his receding footsteps, I smiled, for I noted that the scented parchment was nowhere in sight, not even in the dustbin, and that means….

"Yes!"

End – Experiment, The Second.

Next: Experiment, the Third, or "One picture is worth a thousand words"


	3. Experiment, The Third -or- One Picture I...

Experiment, the Third

"One Picture Is Worth One Thousand Words (Or One Thousand Lines, If the Professor Catches You…)"

Once again, in the interests of Science, I have decided to attempt another experiment in Snapeology. Arriving early in Potions Class, I decided to sit in the back of the chilly, torch-lit classroom in order to have a little privacy in which to conduct my experiment. I made sure to bring extra parchment and a fine sketching quill in addition to my usual parchments and quills.

It states in that most excellent advice manual for the lovelorn lamiae, "Pursuit of the Single-Wizard (or, How to Always Get Your Man)" (Chapter 13, page 427), " and even the most morose of mages will be tickled pink to know that you, O Saucy Seeress, thought enough of him to produce a passionate portrait of the object of your desperate desire, himself! A word of ageless advice, O Artistic Auguresses: Include your sensuous self in the immortalized image whenever possible, for the voluptuous vision of the two of you, together at last, is bound to give even the most ponderous-minded of prestidigitators reckless romantic notions."

As usual, the Subject, Professor Severus Snape, was standing in he front of the dungeon chamber awaiting his pupils. It could have been just my imagination, but the Subject favoured me with one of his heart-stopping smiles and a curt nod.

Once seated and set up, I began. At first, it was relatively easy to observe and sketch the Subject. As other students began to file in, observation of the Subject became a little more problematic, but fortunately, the Subject's habit of pacing the chamber afforded me several rather good views of him.

I continued my observations throughout class. The Subject did not seem to notice, and during the times the Subject was too close to allow me to sketch, I was able to conceal said sketch under another parchment. I chose to render the Subject shirtless (in order to scientifically observe the Subject's fine musculature, of course). Toward the end of class, I decided to contrast the Subject with a female specimen of the same species. Since I am most familiar with drawing myself, naturally, I decided to use myself as the model. Since the female of the species is, by nature, more modest, I depicted myself as fully clad (though I did clothe my penned image in a very flattering formal robe).

At the conclusion of the class, the Subject called for our latest written assignments. Alas, in her misguided haste (doubtless to make a good impression of the Subject), the Slytherin Prefect, Enid Thirstwhistle, yanked my sketch out of my hand and added it to the pile bound for the front of the classroom. Even my feeble protest garnered a cool look from the Subject, so I endeavored to remain quiet and think a way out of my immediate predicament.

Unfortunately for this observer, the Subject's dangerous nature roused itself, and he released his class one by one, checking off each assignment as he did. His eyes grew wide for a moment as he regarded the sketch, then he smiled a positively reptilian smile and resumed checking off assignments. Naturally, since Enid had grabbed my sketch instead of my assignment, the Subject did not chance to call my name, leaving me all alone in the classroom when all the other students departed.

"Miss Wainwright, would you care to join me in my office?" the Subject said, casually gathering the assignments together and leaving the classroom.

I have a bad feeling about this, I thought, but I had little choice but to follow the good Professor down to his office, picking up my books as I did. Once there, I found the subject seated at his desk, still in possession of the sketch.

"Come in, Miss Wainwright. Do sit…while you can. Can you explain this…er…object? I found it among the class assignments. Incidentally, I did not notice an assignment from yourself." His dark eyes had commenced their usual predatory glitter. I felt both thrilled and terrified.

"Sir…Professor Snape…I can explain. You see, Enid Thirstwhistle grabbed-"

A slight nod. "I see… And how did she chance to insert this," indicating the sketch, "instead of your assignment, Miss Wainwright? Naturally you would not have been working on anything in class other than the topic at hand, being the study of Potions. Judging from this, one might think that you were attending an Art class instead."

"Sir…please…" I reached into my bag and withdrew the assignment I had intended to hand in.

The subject took it in one hand, glanced at it peremptorily…and glanced at the fireplace. I wondered, for a moment, if he planned to burn it, but instead, he nodded and slipped it in among the other assignments. "Late, of course," he declared, but he continued to smile.

I sensed a softening in the Subject at this point and decided to press my advantage. "The picture, sir…"

"Ah yes, the picture. And what an…interesting pose and mode of dress, Miss Wainwright." He placed the parchment containing the sketch in a drawer and stood. I looked up at him from the guest chair, into those deep eyes, his strong-featured face. He reached down and extended his hand to me, and I nearly swooned at his nearness. Gently, he drew me to my feet. I felt my face grow hot.

"Oh, Professor…" I closed my eyes and raised my face, anticipating, perhaps, a kiss.

"I have just the proper reward for your diligence in mind, Miss Wainwright."

The Subject continued to hold my hand, but instead of touching his lips to mine, he guided me to his desk. I opened my eyes in a rapturous ecstasy and saw the Subject reaching behind his desk to withdraw…hey! Waitaminnit! He's not about to kiss you, you twit, he's going to……

The Curtain of Charity is Drawn Across the Intervening Scene.

_A note to a classmate in Slytherin:_

Dearest Roo,

When I join you in Detention tonight, please do NOT ask about the pillow. You don't want to know.

Let me reiterate my previous warning: only trained researched should attempt direct, field observations of dangerous Subjects (especially those wielding school canes or similar weapons), and remember that when cornered, the Subject can be more dangerous than might otherwise be expected.

Yes, there WILL be a fourth Experiment. After all, sometime sacrifices must be made in the interests of Science and the pursuit of Knowledge, but this researcher will try something a little less…daring next time…at least 'til I can sit comfortably again.

Sorely,

Althea Wainwright


	4. Experiment, the Fourth -or- Charmed, I'm...

Experiment, the Fourth

Or

"Charmed, I'm Sure"

"Make a Love Charm, and beguile your beloved into a desperate, dizzy passion for you. No excuses, girls! To make a lasting Charm of Love that will incite even the most evasive of Enchanters into your arms is altogether easy, simple and fun."

That, I thought, is easy for you to say, Miss Mantunite! I flipped open the tome again to continue reading. "Take a piece of red silk and sleep with it under your pillow for five nights, each night speaking the name of your beloved seven times into the cloth," the recipe began. "In the meantime, gather the following ingredients together:

freshly plucked petals from a brilliant red rose

a blossom (or two) of forget-me-not flowers

a small sprig of cedar (fresh is preferred)

a pinch of rosemary (fresh is best, but dried will suffice)

three strands of hair from the one casting the charm

a strand of red silk at least six inches in length

a generous pinch of sea salt

a small phial of oil of rose

no less than a cup of pure, cold water

a red candle, never before burned, at least six inches in length (beeswax preferred)

The items were simple enough to gather, either from Potions supply or my own small stock. Rosemary might even be obtained from the kitchen (the house-elves wouldn't mind). Cedar grew on the grounds. A red candle could be garnered from Professors Trelawney or Flitwick. I tried hard to remember all the meanings of the various plants. Red roses, of course, meant 'I love you.' Forget-me-not was obvious. Rosemary, of course, was for remembrance. It took me a few minutes' research in the library to learn that a cedar sprig meant constancy in love, or, 'I live for thee.' (Hmm, I thought, her other ideas notwithstanding, maybe Miss Mantunite is not as cracked a cauldron as I was beginning to think.)

It took about a week to get the materials I needed for the charm, as the Subject, the object of my unrequited affections, Professor Severus Snape, had his cool eye upon me, ever since our last somewhat uncomfortable encounter. He made me sit in the front of Potions class (much to some folks' amusement) and called upon me several times during class to ensure I was paying attention to the lesson at hand rather than embarking upon other areas of research. Thank goodness I actually HAD been paying attention! I smiled to myself. Surely these were signs of a deepening affection? I mean…certainly, he HAD noticed me, hadn't he? And sometimes, as I bent over my work, I could sense his eyes upon me, observing me closely. Once, when I chanced to look up and meet his eyes, he actually smiled a little and gave me a curt nod before descending on another table with an irritated declaration, "No, no, no! Not all at once, you dolt!" There was a hiss and a gurgle from the cauldron as the odiferous concoction within bubbled wetly over the side. "Ten points from Hufflepuff, Jenkins, and if I have to tell you again…" Allan Jenkins, more than a little afraid of Professor Snape, bleated an apology and moved quickly to clean up the mess under Snape's disapproving eye.

Now, the next part of the charm required that I wait until the waxing phases of the moon, preferably during the new moon. This was to ensure that the affections of my beloved would "…increase as does the Mysterious Moon, darlings." That, too, was easy enough and required only a week's wait, during which, I could prepare the silk cloth.

The next part of the project was a little more difficult, for I had to wait until the wee hours of the morning, when I could actually SEE the dimmest sliver of silvery moonlight, to cast the charm. Slipping outside was easier than I expected, as no one but the house elves were abroad so early. I looked to the west and saw the moon, her face mostly hidden in the earth's shadow, and the thinnest glimmer of light at the edge of the mostly-dark disc. Excellent!

I drew forth my wand and glanced around to make sure I was alone, then stepped out of my robes, for Miss Mantunite said, "…and to ensure the most magnificent passion production, why not cast this charm skyclad, in the tried and true method of our far-sighted foremothers…" Right, lose the robes. Brrr….the pre-dawn air was chilly and I felt my skin raise in goosebumps. How come witches in stories never seemed to mind the cold? Hope no one sees me, I thought, feeling quite silly. A horrid thought crossed my mind. What if the Good Professor chanced to be sleepless…? And were walking in this very spot…? And saw me…? He was infamous for being somewhat insomniac and was better than an Auror at ferreting out illicit nocturnal activities among his students. Worse yet, he seemed to have a ghastly sixth sense as to when said activities were occurring and almost always put in a most unwelcome appearance. I could only imagine the interview that would result: "And you were doing what, Miss Wainwright? And in such a state?" The mere imagining of his deceptively soft, silken voice sent a chill through me that was not entirely due to the fact that I adored him. My mental image of Professor Snape then frowned as only he could, brows knitting together in a deepening scowl, lip curling, dark eyes glittering dangerously. I suppressed my shudders and continued with my task.

Now, to cast the circle. I raised my wand high and addressed the four points of the compass, North, East, South and West and felt the cone of energy rise as the circle was completed. No negative thoughts...just focus on the work. Light the candle, spread out the salt, charge with water, earth, fire and air. I spread the silken circle on the ground and, one by one, placed the material components within: rose petals, forget-me-not, cedar, rosemary, three drops of oil of rose, and three strands of hair from my own head. And as I cast, I tried to shape an image of the Professor as I wished him to be: dark eyes smouldering with passion, finely sculpted mouth whispering words of love for me alone, strong arms around me, his hands…. That was the hardest part of all, as Professor Snape's image stubbornly resisted shaping. At one point in my attempt to visualize my desire, my beloved's image appeared to be regarding me with some gentle amusement, like an adult watching a very small child at play. Was it my merely my doubts surfacing, or did my imagined paramour's eyes sparkle with mischief as he shook an admonitory finger at me? Finally, I tied up the charm with the red silk cord, tying the cord in seven knots and sealed it with wax from the candle. There!

Well, I thought, it didn't look like much, but there it was – my "magnum opus." At least it smelled nice! I put my robes back on, noting that they felt just a bit damp after lying on the ground. No one was around, which suited me fine as I gathered the rest of my equipment. I hurried back inside, grateful that the house elves had already begun lighting fires. I could already smell breakfast cooking for the early risers. And then, certain that it would be just my luck that a certain Professor would be among these early risers, I scurried back to the dormitory to bathe and dress normally.

The next part of the operation was the most perilous. According to Miss Mantunite, "…now there are some disagreements in the Wizarding World of Love over how to MAKE a proper Love Charm, but there is only ONE way to ensure its effectiveness. You, O Inventive Incantatrix, must contrive some Machiavellian method, some scurrilous scheme to deliver your Lasting Charm of Love to the very heart of his Secret Realm. Place it beneath his Pillow, sealed with a Kiss, and HIS fate is sealed, my dears!"

Umm…right. Under his pillow? Snape's pillow? And how the devil am I supposed to accomplish THAT, I silently asked Miss Mantunite's picture as it vamped and simpered and batted its over-made-up eyes? How, indeed? "Oh, Professor Snape…might I have access to your private bed chamber for a few moments? I just need to drop something off…" I could see his steely-eyed stare and curling lip in my mind's eye, together with an ugly look of dawning suspicion. "And just WHAT would you 'need' to deliver to MY bed chamber, Miss Wainwright? Shall we discuss this with the Headmaster…RIGHT NOW?"

So I thought…and I thought… Maybe I could climb in through a window? No, you stupid git…his quarters and his office are in the dungeon! Maybe Peeves? I shuddered. Peeves would probably make up an insulting little ditty about my passion for Snape and sing it loudly as he flew through the hallways, cackling nastily between verses…if I were fortunate. The Bloody Baron? I shuddered and abandoned the mere thought. Filch? Hmm…yes…maybe Filch. Now, knowing how much he despised all students, I would, of course, never ask him directly, but perhaps his office might yield some clue. After all, as Caretaker, he had access to every room in Hogwarts, did he not? And Filch was so detested by everyone in Hogwarts (even those self-righteous prigs over in Gryffindor), anyone spotting me would think I was playing a prank on Filch and let me alone (or maybe even offer to help).

That night, after lights out, I managed to slip from my bed, out of Slytherin, and down to Filch's office. As luck would have it, he chanced to be out on his appointed rounds. A simple Opening Charm made short work of the lock, and since Filch was a Squib, he'd never know the difference, provided yours truly was careful. I knew I didn't need to worry about Mrs. Norris, either, as she almost always accompanied Filch on his rounds.

On the other hand, searching Filch's office proved to be a disagreeable chore. Now, I had to figure that Filch might keep his magical passwords in a file somewhere. 'Somewhere,' yes, but the location of that 'somewhere' proved to be elusive. Filch, it seemed, kept files dating from the early Middle Ages, on a variety of topics. And since I had no idea how often Filch stopped back by his office during his night's rounds, I jumped at every little noise. I knew that Filch would take fiendish glee in dragging me back to Slytherin and presenting me to Professor Snape like some bizarre hunting trophy. "Caught the little minx in my office," I could hear him rasping in my thoughts. "If you plan to cane her, may I watch?" I could also imagine that Professor Snape liked his rest as well as anyone else and might not view the source of the interruption of his sleep with anything resembling kindness.

After what seemed like an eternity, I located a crottled, blotched, ancient-looking parchment with the names of teachers written in a spidery hand. And below each name was written "office" and "chambers." Attached to this parchment were a pair of skeleton keys. And next to each name was written a word or phrase. The one next to the Headmaster's, for instance, read "Ice Mice." Now, if this list were to fall into the wrong hands, much mischief might be accomplished, at least until the professors changed the passwords. Fortunately, I had no nefarious deeds in mind – merely the delivery of a little present! I quickly scanned down the list. Near the bottom I saw "Severus Snape." Unlike the other staff, written next to HIS name were several passwords AND instructions on how to disarm (and rearm) the Warding Charms. I copied down the information I needed, quietly pocketed one of the keys, and replaced the document where I had found it. I could arrange to return the key later. Now, to make my escape!

I narrowly missed Peeves, who was too busy writing naughty words on a wall to notice my passage. His chortles of glee sounded particularly sinister in the gloom of the darkened corridor. I also avoided the head of Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall, who seemed headed toward the kitchen. I heard Filch muttering as he walked along with Mrs. Norris and dove into an alcove just in time to avoid being seen. Mrs. Norris paused for a bit and seemed to sniff the air before continuing along after her master. Finally, I came across two of my housemates, who had sneaked out to the Slytherin Common Room for a little late-night romance. They looked up, startled, as I entered on my way back to my dorm room, and waved feebly with sheepish grins before resuming their previous activities.

The following night, I waited until after the evening meal to implement my daring plan! Professor Snape was conversing with Professor Sprout on obtaining more herbal potion components. I left the Great Hall as quietly as I could, wishing to attract no undue attention. From there, I found the downward staircase that led to Professor Snape's dungeon classroom and office. I had a feeling his private chambers were not too far away.

Finally, I stood before the portal of Severus Snape's "Sanctum Sanctorum," the most closely guarded region of his realm! I silently re-read the passwords and Charm deactivations phrases one more time before attempting to gain entry. For a moment, nothing! I wondered if Filch could have been clever enough to substitute a false list for snoopers to find. Wonderful, I thought, guess I'll have to create a 'Plan B.' But just then, a shimmer of light caught my eye…it was faint and ghostly – a flickering werelight in the glow of the corridor torches. Quickly, trying hard not to stammer, I read the Charm to deactivate the wards placed on the door.

The edges of the door flickered again and went out. Hesitantly, I inserted the skeleton key into the keyhole and turned it in the lock. For a moment, it seemed stuck. I forced myself to wait. At last, I heard a faint 'click' as the physical tumblers turned and the lock opened.

The Professor's chambers were pitch dark. I pulled out my wand and whispered, "_Lumos._" The room was revealed in the small light I had conjured. It was what I had expected, and yet, not so. There were numerous books on shelves that lined the room. Like his office, there were jars of pickled things and other items that I supposed were potion components occupying other shelves. There were neat bundles of scroll tubes and a writing desk. The air smelled surprisingly fresh – like mint or basil with a strong, masculine undertone. His bedchamber lay beyond. I repocketed the skeleton key and reset the charms on the door before proceeding further.

All the while, I felt almost as if invisible eyes were upon me. That didn't stop me, however! I forced myself through the portal that led to my beloved's most secret place. A large curtained four-poster bed dominated the room; the curtains were drawn back, and the bed was quite neatly made. There were more bottles lining the walls, and of course, more books. On one wall hung a tapestry with the Slytherin coat of arms. Resting in a corner was a small umbrella rack that did not hold umbrellas but rather what appeared to be several crook-handled canes of varying diameters. That particular sight riveted my attention for several moments and brought quite clearly to my mind my own close encounter with that archetypical implement of correction. I made my way to the bed – his bed! – and carefully slipped the charm under his pillow, then froze in my tracks as I heard the door to the chamber being opened! _"Nox!"_ I whispered and dove quickly into the wardrobe.

The outermost door closed and I heard footsteps. I recognized that careful, almost gliding tread immediately – the Master of Slytherin had indeed returned to his domicile! I could hear him muttering quietly to himself.

"…fools! Why am I saddled with such fools?" I heard a rustling of cloth and then, _"Lumos candela."_ A flickering golden light could be seen along the edges of the door of the wardrobe. More footsteps, then the sound of water running. Snape did not emerge for some time. When he finally emerged, I could detect the aroma of soap. There were more footfalls, some coming perilously close to my hiding place. The wardrobe was not very deep, and I was sure to be detected once the door was opened.

I crouched in the dark, trying hard not to make a sound. For a heart-stopping moment, the door to the wardrobe rattled. Then, the steps withdrew again. Was there time to make a break for it? I tensed myself to run, only to discover that my left slipper was caught in something in the bottom of his wardrobe. Before I could work it loose, I heard his footsteps approaching again. I cowered low in the wardrobe. I heard him turning down the bed and heard the springs creak. He seemed to be getting into bed. Then I heard a soft _"Extinguo candela,"_ as he put out the candle. All was dark. My left foot was starting to cramp unmercifully in the dank cold.

Silence. Darkness. The two seemed to merge until they were all encompassing. All the world was dark and silent. My foot was still cramping, and my left calf, unused to such physical contortions, was beginning to follow. I heard Professor Snape's voice in the darkness, murmuring something, perhaps in sleep. The springs creaked a little. If he were asleep, it would be a perfect chance to make my escape, provided I could remain quiet.

Carefully, I stretched upward. I extended my left leg, only to have the cramping intensify as I tried to straighten my leg. I bit back a cry. I reached upward to keep from falling forward. The wardrobe door opened abruptly, and I heard Snape's soft, sibilant whisper, _"Lumos."_ Our eyes met. Was he smiling…just a little? "Miss Wainwright, is it not?" He extended his left hand; I took it, and he helped me up. Oh, sweet relief! "What an unexpected surprise." The irony in his voice was painful to hear. He pointed to a plain wooden chair. "Do sit. We need to talk." In the dim light, I could see he was wearing a long grey nightshirt. His expression was one of annoyance and surprise.

"Professor Snape," I began desperately, "I can explain…"

"Yes, I'm sure you can," he said, withdrawing my charm from the pocket of his nightshirt. "This was under my pillow. A love charm, Miss Wainwright? For me? How flattering." As always, his voice held a sarcastic bite.

"You-you knew…"

"I suspected. Now I know. You realize, my dear, that trespassing into a professor's private quarters could be grounds for severe sanctions that make a mere caning seem like no punishment at all. I could, as your Head of House, even recommend your suspension or expulsion."

The statement felt like a physical blow. "Oh please…"

He held up a hand. In the dim light, his features seemed softened, gentler. Then I looked into his eyes. Why…he looked almost sad. "Miss Wainwright, how old are you? Sixteen?"

"I'll be _seventeen_ in March," I declared stoutly.

He leaned in close until I could have almost kissed him. His face wore a different expression than his one of usual sardonic disapproval. It looked almost fatherly. Under his gaze, I no longer felt like a sophisticated femme fatale, a follower of Ivanna Mantunite's guides for the lovelorn. I felt like a silly, vapid little schoolgirl caught out at a childish prank. He continued, "You should not be here, and I will escort you back to your dormitory as soon as we are finished with our discussion." He took my hand in his and held his eyes with mine. "No man worthy of the name would take advantage of a girl your age, my dear. I am deeply flattered that you think you are in love with me, but this foolishness must end, and it must end tonight. If you persist, I shall have no option but to meet with the Headmaster and perhaps, send an owl to your parents. You seem somewhat intelligent…that is, when you aren't cooking up some buffleheaded scheme to attract attention, and I would prefer to appeal to your intellect rather than take more drastic measures."

I felt a large lump rising in my throat and my eyes stung with tears. I could have taken anger, rejection, revulsion…anything but this-this paternal gentleness. A sob rose in my throat as the tears began to cascade unchecked down my cheeks. "I-I'm s-s-sorry…" I blubbered. "I n-n-n-never w-w-anted t-to…"

Snape handed me a clean hanky and patted my shoulder gently. "Even the gentlest of rejections can be quite painful," he said softly. He spoke as if from bitter experience, and he wore a rueful smile. I longed to ask him, but did not dare. He let me cry for a few minutes; his hand on my shoulder was a comforting warmth. After the storm abated, he said, "The washroom is next to the closet. Go wash your face. Come back when you're done."

I returned in a few moments. Snape had the charm in his hands, along with my poem and the sketch. He placed them in my hands. "These are yours. I want you to promise me that from now on, you'll keep your mind on your studies." Then he paused for a moment and said, "Empty your pockets."

I did. He held out his hand for the key and the parchment. "I-I bet you were wondering, Sir, how I got in…"

His eyes seemed to dance with unspoken mirth. "Mr. Filch," he declared with obvious relish, "is losing his touch. I presume you obtained these from his office?"

I nodded dully. "I waited until he'd gone off on his rounds," I confessed.

"And you DO realize that by breaking into Filch's office, you have committed yet another fairly serious offense?"

"Y-yes, sir. Oh, I'm in so much trouble…"

He nodded slightly and replied, "To put it mildly…"

"A-are you going to punish me, sir," I asked, in dread anticipation of something truly fiendish for my latest stunt.

He favoured me with that thin, vicious, oh-so-familiar smile and his dark eyes gleamed. "Oh, most certainly! I would not want this night's foolishness to go unremembered." His smile broadened as he regarded me. "And since I wish this to be something you'll remember for a long time, I think I shall offer you a little exercise. Were you in my position, what would YOU think an appropriate penalty for your actions?"

I swallowed hard. I had no idea. There were certain things I hoped he would NOT do, such as complain to Dumbledore (or worse yet, my parents!). I could not afford a failing grade in Potions, and I was so tired of copying and writing lines. Points off Slytherin? That would be awful because then everyone would want to know what I'd done, and some of my housemates would definitely take it ill that I had lost Slytherin points. Would he cane me again…or maybe something even worse? Some of the dire punishments said to be proposed by Filch leapt to mind…hanging by the thumbs, boiling in oil, decapitation… None of these options sounded at all appealing. "It's bad enough already," I said morosely, "knowing what you must think of me after all…all this. I feel so stupid…and cheap…and…"

There was a hint of warmth in his eyes, remote, but there. Not the expression I'd dreamt of or hoped for, but a kindly expression just the same. I had the sudden impression that I was being given a rare gift – a glimpse into Severus Snape's innermost heart. "No," he said gently. "Neither 'stupid,' nor 'cheap.' Rather clever, actually, and certainly courageous enough to beard me in my very den. Cunning, clever, unwilling to allow any obstacle to dissuade you… Worthy of a true Slytherin." I smiled brightly. Seeing this, he frowned and added, "Of course, that does not excuse you…" He sat back and stroked his chin with his long fingers obviously expecting me to speak.

I managed a watery smile. "Yes, sir, I know. I could write a report for you…on respecting privacy and obeying rules. Or maybe one about keeping one's mind on one's studies? Or both?"

He nodded and stood. "You may give me your reply after Potions class tomorrow. In writing, please, no fewer than four feet of parchment, with no fewer than five options detailed, along with your rationale for each. I also want you to explain why each punishment would be a deterrent to your further misbehavior. If you fail to give me an option which I find satisfactory, I shall deal with the matter in my own fashion." From the tone in his voice, I had the distinct feeling I did not want to explore that option. Then he took my arm gently as I stood and escorted me back to the Slytherin girls' dormitory. We passed Filch and Mrs. Norris, both of whom gave us curious stares. Professor Snape regally ignored them; I followed his example.

Once back in Slytherin, Snape escorted me to the very door of my dormitory. "Good evening, Miss Wainwright," he said in a low tone. "I shall see you in class on the morrow."

"Good night, Professor Snape…thank you." He turned and was gone. I started to place the charm, the poem and the sketch in my trunk but reconsidered. I finally put away the two parchments and kept out the love charm. As I mentioned before, it smelled nice. I put it under my own pillow, smiling slightly. Severus Snape…what a guy! I had promised there would be no more attempts to gain his affections, but I could dream, couldn't I? And who knew…? After next year, I would be an alumna, and no longer 'under age.' Older wizards HAD been known to take up with younger witches on occasion… As I closed my eyes, I thought of my beloved…and smiled.

(dream on, dream on)

I can see

No matter how near you'll be

You'll never belong to me

But I can dream, can't I?

Can't I pretend that I'm locked in the bend of your embrace?

For dreams are just like wine

And I am drunk with mine

I'm aware

My heart is a sad affair

There's much disillusion there

But I can dream, can't I?

Can't I adore you

Although we are oceans apart?

I can't make you open your heart

But I can dream, can't I?

I'm aware

My heart is a sad affair

There's much disillusion there

But I can dream, can't I?

Can't I adore you

Although we are oceans apart?

I can't make you open your heart

But I can dream, can't I?

(dream on, dream on, dream on)

I can dream, can't I?

_(lyrics as recorded July 15, 1949 by The Andrews Sisters with Gordon Jenkins and his Orchestra. Lead vocal by Patty Andrews with Maxene and Laverne on backup vocals.)_


End file.
